Her name was Fiona, and she was the most popular girl in school.
The first day she set foot on campus, every single person - girl or boy - fell in love with her.
On the second day, everyone's grades reached an all-time high.
On the third day, everyone wanted to always be around her.
On the fourth day, everyone missed her when she didn't come to class.
On the fifth day, everyone went all out looking for her - in every nearby house, mall, arcade, nook and cranny.
On the sixth day, everyone called the open-book exam difficult.
On the seventh, everyone hated Fiona.
The following week, she came back. She had gotten thin and bedraggled - so unlike the girl they had first met.
But no one noticed. They were too busy hating her to care.
Saddened, Fiona left and transferred to another school.
Friday, October 3, 2008
29: I Hate Vegetables
Teary-eyed. That was how I was when Andi left.
I didn't cry because I swore not to, and I didn't ask her to stay because I knew she didn't want to.
What else could I do but to shove everything down my throat and clamp my mouth shut so I don't throw it all up on her feet?
It was like back when I was being taught to eat my vegetables - broccoli, for one. My mother, who had gotten exasperated over my staunch refusal to open my mouth wide and let the choo-choo train or the whee-whee airplane in, forced-open my jaw and packed the stems of smooshy, furry green things in. The WHOLE plate of it. Which was a LOT.
I was going to throw it all up after, but she kept her hands around my face, keeping my mouth shut and forcing me to get it ALL down.
I remember the tears that welled up in my eyes.
I wanted to get it all OUT, not IN. But my mother had other ideas.
When she finally let go, I wailed like the three-year old that I was. Something I want to do so badly right now.
Then again, I'm no three-year old anymore. And emotions - I just found out now - are easier to get down than those hell-sent broccoli ever were.
This actually brings me back to that inane cliche of a quote I read at a stationery once - When you love someone, set them free. If you're really meant to be, you'll still get back together in the end.
I used to think it was a silly quote, but right now - when all that's left of Andi is our photo sticker stuck at the back of my cellphone - that ridiculous saying is the only thing I can grasp onto for hope.
A ceaseless hope that I know is just stupid and illogical, but nevertheless continues to exist - and I cringe at this - in my heart.
Fuck love for making me this cheesy.
And fuck that guy for whisking her away to Never Never Land where all things are warm and fuzzy and cute and... normal.
"You'll always be my bestfriend," She said with a smile as she waved and boarded the train.
The hellspawn Bestfriend Card. Couldn't blame her though. I used it a hundred times before too. Why I have a lot of male friends, no one really thought so hard to figure out.
If I told her I loved her more than just a friend, she would have laughed out loud, I'm sure. Would've told me, "Of course! We're like sisters, right?"
Stupid broccoli. Why won't it just stay in my stomach? Where it's safe. Where I'm safe. Where we're safe.
I watch nth train come into the station today; the way I've been doing these past few weeks. And as the doors slide open, I scan each and every alighting passenger's face with bated breath; hoping against hope that it's her, all smiles and ready to jump at me with a hug, screeching in her high-pitched voice, "I changed my mind! Fuck that guy, I'm staying here with you!"
Ah, a girl could dream.
I shove my hands into my pockets and try to ignore the coldness of the air creeping into every inch of my being.
I turn my back from the now-closing up train and join the horde that just got out. I really don't mind the pushing and shoving.
After all, this is the closest thing I have to not feeling alone.
I didn't cry because I swore not to, and I didn't ask her to stay because I knew she didn't want to.
What else could I do but to shove everything down my throat and clamp my mouth shut so I don't throw it all up on her feet?
It was like back when I was being taught to eat my vegetables - broccoli, for one. My mother, who had gotten exasperated over my staunch refusal to open my mouth wide and let the choo-choo train or the whee-whee airplane in, forced-open my jaw and packed the stems of smooshy, furry green things in. The WHOLE plate of it. Which was a LOT.
I was going to throw it all up after, but she kept her hands around my face, keeping my mouth shut and forcing me to get it ALL down.
I remember the tears that welled up in my eyes.
I wanted to get it all OUT, not IN. But my mother had other ideas.
When she finally let go, I wailed like the three-year old that I was. Something I want to do so badly right now.
Then again, I'm no three-year old anymore. And emotions - I just found out now - are easier to get down than those hell-sent broccoli ever were.
This actually brings me back to that inane cliche of a quote I read at a stationery once - When you love someone, set them free. If you're really meant to be, you'll still get back together in the end.
I used to think it was a silly quote, but right now - when all that's left of Andi is our photo sticker stuck at the back of my cellphone - that ridiculous saying is the only thing I can grasp onto for hope.
A ceaseless hope that I know is just stupid and illogical, but nevertheless continues to exist - and I cringe at this - in my heart.
Fuck love for making me this cheesy.
And fuck that guy for whisking her away to Never Never Land where all things are warm and fuzzy and cute and... normal.
"You'll always be my bestfriend," She said with a smile as she waved and boarded the train.
The hellspawn Bestfriend Card. Couldn't blame her though. I used it a hundred times before too. Why I have a lot of male friends, no one really thought so hard to figure out.
If I told her I loved her more than just a friend, she would have laughed out loud, I'm sure. Would've told me, "Of course! We're like sisters, right?"
Stupid broccoli. Why won't it just stay in my stomach? Where it's safe. Where I'm safe. Where we're safe.
I watch nth train come into the station today; the way I've been doing these past few weeks. And as the doors slide open, I scan each and every alighting passenger's face with bated breath; hoping against hope that it's her, all smiles and ready to jump at me with a hug, screeching in her high-pitched voice, "I changed my mind! Fuck that guy, I'm staying here with you!"
Ah, a girl could dream.
I shove my hands into my pockets and try to ignore the coldness of the air creeping into every inch of my being.
I turn my back from the now-closing up train and join the horde that just got out. I really don't mind the pushing and shoving.
After all, this is the closest thing I have to not feeling alone.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
30: My Sun
"He's coming."
The raspy whisper held such fear in it that Alden froze in his place.
Everything had been such a blur. Looking back, his memory could only provide him with hazy bits and pieces of the beginning - the raspy-voiced woman pulling him by the hand, the dark figure advancing towards them from behind, the bruising force by which the woman shoved him with, and the stuffy heat of the closet.
"WHERE IS HE?!"
He remembered hugging his knees inside the closet.
"I don't know."
"I SAW HIM! WHERE DID YOU HIDE HIM?"
"If I knew," The woman began, strength slowly rising from her quivering voice, "Do you really think I'd tell you where he is?"
There was a strained pause...
...and then a loud, resounding slap.
He remembered trying to fit his little head into the cracks of his tightly conjoined knees and shivering uncontrollably as he vainly tried to drown out the sounds of violence with his voiceless crying.
"TELL ME WHERE HE IS!" Slap, slap, slap. And then POUND. "TELL ME!"
Mouth thankfully pressed on his legs stifled the scared sob, and the gift of memory chose to remember only what was necessary.
He remembered her whimpering, sobbing... but not wailing.
There had been wailing, but it had not been hers. That much he knew.
He remembered slick liquid finding its way inside his little sanctuary, but he didn't realize then what, or whose it was.
The door of the closet burst open, and for the first time, he remembered seeing the light of day.
Alden raised his hand to shield his eyes from the searing sun rays and kneeled down to the headstone on the grassy mound. Lovingly, he brushed the stray grass the wind had blown in, and read the inscription for the nth time in fifteen years.
For the life you gave and let live.
He patted the headstone for the last time and lay down the bouquet of sunflowers.
He stood up and walked away; with a sad smile and a silent thanks to the woman who had once saved his life.
The raspy whisper held such fear in it that Alden froze in his place.
Everything had been such a blur. Looking back, his memory could only provide him with hazy bits and pieces of the beginning - the raspy-voiced woman pulling him by the hand, the dark figure advancing towards them from behind, the bruising force by which the woman shoved him with, and the stuffy heat of the closet.
"WHERE IS HE?!"
He remembered hugging his knees inside the closet.
"I don't know."
"I SAW HIM! WHERE DID YOU HIDE HIM?"
"If I knew," The woman began, strength slowly rising from her quivering voice, "Do you really think I'd tell you where he is?"
There was a strained pause...
...and then a loud, resounding slap.
He remembered trying to fit his little head into the cracks of his tightly conjoined knees and shivering uncontrollably as he vainly tried to drown out the sounds of violence with his voiceless crying.
"TELL ME WHERE HE IS!" Slap, slap, slap. And then POUND. "TELL ME!"
Mouth thankfully pressed on his legs stifled the scared sob, and the gift of memory chose to remember only what was necessary.
He remembered her whimpering, sobbing... but not wailing.
There had been wailing, but it had not been hers. That much he knew.
He remembered slick liquid finding its way inside his little sanctuary, but he didn't realize then what, or whose it was.
The door of the closet burst open, and for the first time, he remembered seeing the light of day.
Alden raised his hand to shield his eyes from the searing sun rays and kneeled down to the headstone on the grassy mound. Lovingly, he brushed the stray grass the wind had blown in, and read the inscription for the nth time in fifteen years.
For the life you gave and let live.
He patted the headstone for the last time and lay down the bouquet of sunflowers.
He stood up and walked away; with a sad smile and a silent thanks to the woman who had once saved his life.
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